


An Ultimate Assassin?

by sp00kworm



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Afternoon Tea, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin's Creed 4 Rock Anthem, Dancing, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Grandpa Edward, Grumpy Daddy Haytham, Humor, Teenage Connor, Ultimate Assassin's Creed III Song, kids these days, nerf guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kworm/pseuds/sp00kworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor was quickly becoming more difficult to handle as he reached his teenage years and the age of sixteen. Haytham and Ziio have their work cut out for them, but what they didn't expect to find, after a nice morning at a cozy tea room, was their son, playing a certain song, at the max volume through the house, doing something truly strange. Kenway family fluff and humour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ultimate Assassin?

Haytham had never been the most caring father, nor had he really been around too much as Ratonhnhaké:ton, or Connor as he had been nicknamed, grew up. He'd always been away, at meetings or abroad with work. The man had not actually known that Ziio, or Kaniehtí:io, was pregnant until two months into the actual pregnancy- he'd been away in England for that time, and had returned to the news (apparently her picking up the phone was far too difficult). He'd almost had a heart attack when he'd come back to her slightly swollen tummy and the news that their activities from the night before he had to leave had had certain... consequences. If the morning sickness had been bad, Ziio's mood swings were something far worse. The woman was already fiery enough, add strenuous situations involving her moving from one extreme to the other and she was a force that was truly deadly. Despite all this, she'd given birth to a wriggling child. The child had blinked at him with the same dark eyes and freckled cheeks as his mother, his father's nose and jaw, before grabbing a fistful of his father's dark hair and yanking. Haytham spent the next two hours trying to avoid the boy's grabbing hands whilst Ziio cackled form the bed, too exhausted to move. When they'd returned home, his father, Edward, had found the child's habit just as entertaining. Apparently said child only had a habit of grabbing his hair, because his father came away unscathed after holding Ratonhnhaké:ton for a good half an hour.

And so, here he sat, sixteen years later, his hair greying and lines on his face, reading the newspaper in his favourite arm chair in the corner, the television opposite him murmuring in the background with the antiques show he liked to watch from England. The house was quiet apart from the clinking of a spoon in a cup in the kitchen, as Ziio made herself a cup of green tea. Eyes scanning the article in the newspaper, he let out a blissful sigh. Connor had been wrapped up in work for his exams, studying quietly in his room after taking out their English Setter, George, for a walk in the early hours of the morning. Connor had always been up at the crack of dawn before he went gallivanting off into the woods near their house to go climbing and running, often taking George with him for company. Ziio often worried, and this was no exception as she entered the room, nursing her tea with both her hands, worry creases across her forehead and around her eyes and mouth. Haytham watched her from the corner of his steel coloured eyes, attention pulled away from the talk about an ancient terracotta pot and his paper, to the woman he loved. He was quick to sense her unease, and quickly shuffled in his seat, closing his newspaper and folding it over, before placing it in his lap and turning to her.

Ziio sighed, laying herself across the sofa as she rolled her eyes at the display on the TV. She abhorred the thousands of antiques shows that Haytham would sit and watch for hours on his days off. Haytham took a sip out of his tea cup, running his hand across George's head as the dog placed his head in his lap.  
“Come on then, out with it.” He scratched George behind the ears affectionately. Ziio gave him a sidewards glance clearly annoyed that he could read her so well. Gently tugging at her hair, she gave out a small sigh, taking a sip from her mug before answering.  
“I worry about him Haytham. He spends most days locked up in his room now. He doesn't talk to us apart from when we pry at meal times, and, may the gods forbid, he spends more time in the woods than he does with his friends now days. It is just... I-I worry that he's distanced himself from everyone.” She cast her eyes down low as she whispered the last part of her tirade. Haytham felt his heart clench slightly, and his eyes grew soft as she finished. Sighing, he ran a hand through his loose hair, thinking, his chin softly rested on his fist. 

The boy had been somewhat troublesome lately. Late nights with no explanations, and never mind the hair cut he went and got. His mother had loved the long hair he had grown out, and the day he walked into the house, the sides shaven and the long middle part pulled back out of his face, he'd had a heart attack. Ziio was much more accepting of the strange and cool styles they came out with these days, and was quick to gush over Connor's new found style, tugging and pulling at the Mohawk every time he had it up. He'd taken to tying it back rather than spiking it up due to this, the braid still ever present, the beads clicking against his face where his mother had placed then when he was but a child. Haytham had not been as accepting, lecturing him within an inch of his life, and questioning him extensively about who he got it with, why and how. The sixteen year old hadn't taken kindly to this, clamming up and snapping back curse words in his mother's native language. They'd argued late into the night, and Ziio was less than impressed when she returned from her night out to find them both at each other's throats in the lounge. It was something that made Haytham's blood boil every time that he thought about it. Ratonhnhaké:ton could never accept that he was wrong and it just made Haytham all the more ready to snap at his son with some sort of smart remark and lecture. This happened more often as Connor had grown older and matured, his hormones wild with puberty.

Haytham hummed thoughtfully before answering.  
“Connor is like any other boy his age, though he probably should be sneaking out to go to parties, he just sneaks out to have time to himself in the woods. Though I do feel his attitude is something that needs sorting, I think its all part of growing up Ziio.” Ziio was quick to glare at him, sipping again at her tea in the zigzag patterned mug. Haytham only gave her a side long glance with cold grey eyes, turning his attention to the small pull in the material of the arm rest of his chair. Ziio pulled her hair aside, small grey streaks showing through with her age, though fewer than Haytham had at this point.  
“I just worry about him, Haytham. I don't want him to feel pressured to live up to you, or to feel shadowed. He has to carve his own path rather than work to inherit your family business. That is why I worry about him being locked in his room. I don't know how he's feeling or what he's doing. I can't even read his emotions anymore Haytham...I just worry about him, he's my baby boy. My little Ratonhnhaké:ton.” Ziio was softly spoken, her words careful as she chose what to say. Haytham frowned, his brow furrowed low.  
“And he is my son too. Although we may have our spats, I do love him to pieces. He's infuriating and naïve sometimes, but I love him all the same.” He leaned forwards, grabbing Ziio's hand with his own, softly caressing her knuckles in a tender gesture. She gave him a weak smile, her freckles creasing slightly over the bridge of her nose. “I'm sure its just a phase. He'll be back to normal in no time. It's just him growing up and finding his wings my dear. If it makes you feel any better, we'll go and talk to him in a little while. Just give him time to finish what he's doing.” Ziio gave out a reluctant sigh, and then nodded, squeezing Haytham's hand back before kissing him on the lips.

They drew away after a few seconds and Haytham watched the playful spark dance across her dark chocolate eyes, like it had done when they first met. He gave her a smirk, drawing her hand up and kissing the back and the palm of it before he gave he a little growl.  
“Oh you do tease me my dear.” Ziio only swatted at his ear playfully, pushing him away as she got up to go and wash up her cup and cleaning up the kitchen from last night's dinner. Haytham chuckled and watched as she walked away into the kitchen, a soft, lovestruck smile on his face as he unfolded his paper and continued to read about the tragic death of the well known veterinarian as he was trampled by a horse drawn carriage, which had savagely taken out four lamp post and seriously injured a boy as well. The antiques show mumbled in the back ground about a 18th century flintlock pistol carried by Colonel Putnam. Quite a find, if not somewhat boring. The woman carefully handed over the pistol, gloves on to avoid damage to the legendary weapon. Haytham rolled his eyes at both his entertainment options, and switched the television off before standing. He adjusted his red shirt and designer black jeans, tugging his fingers through his hair as he shouted to Ziio.  
“Dear do you want some help in the-”

The loud thud of music through the house cut him off. Pots clattered in the kitchen as Ziio dropped a plate back into the soapy water of the bowl. George whined from his place on the rug in the living room, covering his black shaggy ears with his paws, muzzle burrowed in the thick rug. Haytham was about to shoo him off when the thumping through the walls of the house began again. Ziio came out of the large kitchen-diner, wiping her hands on a black kitchen towel as she peered up the large winding stair case. Haytham cringed as a large scream bellowed through the house, his eyes twitching with the amount of noise. Ziio peered curiously up the stairs again, intrigued as the gravelly voice bellowed again in a tortured sound. Apparently heavy metal was something else Connor was experimenting. Haytham ground his teeth together in annoyance. Ziio shrugged at him but frowned as Haytham moved to the stairs, gripping the banister with white knuckles.

“YOUNG MAN YOU WILL TURN THAT RACKET DOWN RIGHT NOW!” 

In response to Haytham's shout the music was only turned up louder. His hand gripped the banister tighter and he ground his teeth together again, anger seeping from every pore in his body. Haytham took one step up the stairs, only to be tugged back harshly by the arm. Ziio gave him a harsh glare, her brown eyes dark with warning. She pulled him away from the stairs, back towards their lounge. Pulling him through the doorway, she slammed the door closed behind them. She wrung the towel through her hands, her face dark. Haytham opened his mouth only for her to scowl.  
“Just let him be for a while. He needs to have his own time without you badgering him to do things or lecturing him about behaviour and life. We'll speak to him later about it.” Haytham sighed out through his nose, his annoyance obvious, but relented, before nodding and accepting her conclusion. Ziio gave him a smile and a peck on the cheek before heading back into the kitchen area. “Now come along. You can help me clean up last nights dishes and then we'll go out to that tea shop you love so much.” Haytham grumbled lowly, but secretly revelled in the chance to eat tiny sandwiches, crumpets and scones while sipping freshly brewed tea. The Brit was always strong in him, and hard to fight when good brewed tea came into the equation. And, just like that, he relented.

The two of them had escaped the shaking walls of the house, leaving a note for Connor, having sent him a message and received no reply, and escaped to the small tea house that Haytham adored. The little stone cottage sat on the outskirts of Boston, a little stone cottage among farm lands, a little way out. It was run by two elderly English people, who had retreated to the United States after they retired from their old jobs in England. Haytham felt at home when they visited, having grown up in England with his father and mother, who still had a large house over there. The two of them used their summer home to come and visit for most of the year due to the little time they both worked. Ziio smiled the whole way, her earlier fire somewhat quelled as she took in her surroundings. Haytham laughed with her, keeping his eyes focused on the road as he listened to her, contributing to the conversation every now and then. They both enjoyed the rest of their morning eating and conversing, watching British news on the small TV. Ziio made an attempt to imitate Haytham's accent, and burst into gentle laughter as Haytham slipped into a deep, southern American accent with a childish glint in his eyes.

So, when they returned home, both were less than pleased. The deep growling music had been changed for something else, but the bass still erupted down the walls sending tremors through the floor. Haytham was just glad their house was detached, with a large amount of land between theirs and the neighbours. He was pretty sure the whole neighbourhood would be able to hear the music otherwise. Haytham pinched the bridge of his nose as he hung his coat up, and slipped off his shoes by the doorway. Ziio had only rolled her eyes, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she placed her handbag aside in the kitchen. The two of them looked at each other. Haytham quirked an eyebrow.  
“Shall we go talk to him now, or after he's shaken the house to nothing but dust and splinters?” Ziio scoffed at his sarcastic tone, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.  
“I suggest now. But I doubt this strange music can destroy our home.” She scowled at his unneeded sarcasm, and gestured a hand out, towards the stair case, “After you.” Haytham just scowled at her, before ascending the stairs towards their teenage son's door.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's door was like any other in the house, but had a wooden plaque hung on the outside, his native name engraved gracefully into the carved wood. He'd made it himself a few years ago in the summer, when they'd gone to visit England for a few weeks. A small workshop had done a few days of wood workshop classes that he had desperately wanted to do, and he'd lovingly created this and a few other pieces for the family. Connor had attached a few white and brown feathers he'd found in the forest, but other than that, it was bare, no posters of signs of life. His parents stood outside the door, looking from each other, to the wood that stood before them. Haytham took a breath, and raised his knuckles before he rapped on the door three times in quick succession. The music did not alter, but the words could be heard faintly through the door, rather slow and languid, with electronic beats mixing together.

Haytham knocked on his son's door another four times before he sighed.  
“Connor open this door right now young man.” He received no reply, only the sound of his own voice and the blaring music inside, which slowed and stopped before starting again with a a few curses mixed into the quick rapping. Haytham growled, smacking his palm against the wood. Ziio cut in, knocking gently one last time.  
“Ratonhnhaké:ton. Open this door now.” Again. Silence. Haytham grumbled to himself before he gritted his teeth.  
“That's it. I've had it with this boy.” He grabbed the door knob in his hand and twisted, shoving the door open forcefully. The heavy door swung open, lightly bumping with the bookshelf behind it. Haytham scowled before his eyebrows shot up in question, Ziio's doing the same behind him.

It was shocking, to say the least, to see their usually reserved son, dancing around the room to the beat of the song, singing the words at the top of his lungs. The song had just gotten to the chorus and the beat was low as the singing began. Connor had tugged his hood of his white and blue jacket over his head, low so it shadowed his eyes, and had a replica, dull bladed, tomahawk in his hand as he sang, swinging it backwards and forwards over his knuckles as he came to a standstill in front of the large sound system in his room.   
“How many fools can I kill today? Too many to count don't get in my way.” He shimmied to the left, twisting the tomahawk over his knuckles before throwing it under his arm and catching the handle with a swift movement. 

Ziio pulled out her phone, her hand covering her mouth to stifle her giggles. Haytham looked on, shocked , confused and a little embarrassed.

“I shoot a mofo in the throat with my bow. Tomahawk chop is my death blow.” Connor flipped the blade up again, catching it in his other hand as he threw his other arm out and nodded to the rhythm, his body jerking forward in time with the snapping of his wrist and the forward motion of his hand. Electronic beats rang out with the word 'Tomahawk' being repeated over and over again, the 't' being stuttered for effect. The next verse began and Connor transitioned into a moonwalk, gliding across the floor with slick style, singing along as he ducked, wielding the tomahawk in his hand almost as though you would a nunchuck. He flipped the blade over and under his arms until he caught it again in his right hand and placed the fingers of the hand against the back of his head. The other arm was out to his left as he pushed the right arm forward a few times before switching hands, throwing the tomahawk across to his left hand, and repeating the move. His back still faced them as he crossed his arms over his chest, bobbing his head as another man began rapping to the beat, and the chorus started again. He strutted forward, swapping his feet in front of each other quickly before rotating his hand at his hip, and at his other. As a finishing move he rotated the replica weapon over his knuckles, throwing it up and over his shoulder before catching it and swapping hands, rotating it again before catching it and leaning backwards, his hands crossed over his chest, a peace sign above his heart. 

As the song faded away, Ziio let out a burst of laughter, tears rolling down her cheeks as she quickly hit the stop button on her camera app. Haytham felt his eye twitch as he attempted to shut his mouth, utterly gob smacked by the end of the little routine. Ratonhnhaké:ton whipped around as quick as a lightning strike, his eyes wild and scared like a deer caught in headlights. His mouth fell open as he spotted his parents in his doorway. A bright pink blush spread from his neck to his cheeks and all the way up to the tips of his ears as he desperately tried to pull down his hood and hide what he'd just done. Ziio burst into even more laughter as Connor fell flat on his face, his hood caught over his eyes and his tomahawk laid uselessly in front of him. His dark hair was a mess of pieces of hair splayed in all directions. He spluttered as he stood up, fumbling with his fingers, a nervous gesture, as he took to staring at his feet.

“Ah I-Ista, R-Raké:ni, I was jus-st um. I was just...practising my-my new...ah.” Connor tried to, lamely, come up with an excuse, but words just seemed to escape him. Ziio was gasping for breath behind his father, typing on her phone as she flapped her hand, speaking was obviously not something she was up to right now. Haytham was another story. He'd managed to close his mouth from the shock of their discovery, but he was struggling to actually come up with something that didn't sound condescending nor like a lecture. So he did what he usually did in situations like this.  
“I suppose you have a routine for the,” He performed air quotations, “'heavy metal' you were playing before we left. Because if you have, son, I suppose it will be as utterly, thoroughly entertaining as that was.” Haytham became a sarcastic whip. His son gave him a infuriated scowl, his fists clenched at his sides as he sneered.  
“Do you two ever knock!” Connor took to avoiding his father's sarcastic questions, instead choosing to take the angry route. Hopefully it would get them to both leave him alone, and in peace. He cringed inwardly. He needed a lock for the door, and a padlock, and a chain and bolt mechanism. Anything, and as many things as he could, to keep them out.

His mother quickly recovered, laughing and muttering in Mohawk under her breath as she regained her composure. With a wicked grin she presented her phone to him, the video playing with the small caption 'My son: The next revolution!'. And yes, there were already seven likes on it and multiple comments...and all said likes had shared the post. Connor groaned ripping his jacket off before he grabbed the door pushing it closed as quickly as he could.  
“I wish you'd ask before you do these things! You are both so annoying at times!” Haytham chuckled as Ziio fell into fits of laughter again. He was quick to intercept the door, his foot holding it open as he peered down at his son, still taller than the boy yet. Haytham smirked, a mischeivous glint in his eyes.  
“Apparently all your friends mother's liked it. Kanen'tó:kon's mother seems quite impressed, she's even showed it him according to the comment. Now. Lets not forget all of your other little friend's mother's-” Connor growled at him before kicking him sharply in the shin. Haytham hissed, recoiling backwards, grasping his leg, removing his foot from the door. The dark coloured wood was promptly slammed closed, Connor growling from behind it. 

Haytham's dark steel eyes grew stormy, and he was quick to smack his fist harshly on the door.  
“YOUNG MAN YOU GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW AND APOLOGISE TO ME!” Ziio was descending the stairs, tears slipping down her cheeks more rapidly as she listened to the two of them. Ratonhnhaké:ton shouted from behind the door, the sound of scrapping reverberating through the wood.  
“You deserved it! You both recorded me and have put it online!” Haytham bared his teeth smacking the door once more, for good measure, before twisting the handle and pushing it. It jammed immediately.   
“MOVE THAT DRESSER IMMEDIATELY CONNOR!” Silence. He peered through the crack to see Connor's smirking face, his Nerf gun in hand, the tiny plastic sucker cup arrow loaded. He never saw it coming until his son cried out with joy, an enormous vindictive smile on his face. Haytham howled as the plastic arrow hit him straight in the eye and he muttered to himself, making his way to the stairs. Before he took the first step he whipped back around, back stiff as he linked his hand at the base of his back, his eye watering profusely.  
“We will talk about this later mister.” He grinned to himself as he turned around, “Oh and I'll be sure to make sure Miss de Grandpré sees this!” Haytham chuckled to himself as he heard the clatter from Connor's room. Haytham-2, The Boy-1. 

 

Edward groaned as he listened to yet another news report. The day had been anything but entertaining and he was in desperate need of a pick me up. A small ping on his phone alerted him to a new notification on Facebook. He was quick to unlock his phone. Ziio's profile picture came into view along with a video of his cute little sea urchin of a grandson. The four minute video was possibly the cutest thing he'd watched since Connor was a child with a bad hair pulling habit. With a grin, he threw his head back, shouting to Tessa, his wife.   
“Tessa! Where's me hat?! I need to show ol' Connor how a real man does it!” 

Connor frowned as he looked at the video his grandfather had sent him. His father sighed, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Like a puppy, Connor tilted his head to the side.  
“Father? Why was he spinning around a pole? And why was he just in his underwear and that pirate hat?” Haytham just grumbled under his breath, pouring himself a cup of tea out of a pot.   
“You'll understand when you get older Connor. For now,” He snatched Connor's phone, clicking the small rubbish bin, deleting the message. “just forget about it. And never watch it again nor mention it to anyone.” He turned back to his antique program. “I swear to bloody god that man is not my father sometimes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mwah ha ha! Yes I went here. I don't even care because the Kenway family is my life and I love every single one of them. Moody teenager Connor just resounds with me so I thought, well, I'm gonna write a thing and I did and, surprisingly, I'm pretty proud of it.   
> Comment your thoughts and if you'd like more slices of Kenway family life!
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are all greatly appreciated!
> 
> Spookworm.


End file.
